Sama'el was getting used to the growing tent city that made up his camp, a microcosm of Endrykas itself now that Jyn and his daughter had their little tend up and Denen had returned with his tent. Horse, his gray Windrunner stallion, thought he led the little band of horses, but truly it was the golden Strider mare, Dohaina, who kept him and Jyn's Ugly Pony in line. They were all of them untethered, Sama'el trusting to Dohaina's intelligence and herd mother presence to keep things in order. If worse came to worst, Sam could jump onto her back and chase down even the fleet-hooved Windrunner, who couldn't outmatch a Strider unless they left the safety of the Drykas Web.
But Sama'el was the only two-legged person in the camp at the moment, which was a little strange. But it gave him a chance to concentrate on the leather he was working. Since Winter fled, he had had less time for craftwork, but he knew that it was part and parcel of having a fully functional pavilion. Every need must be met within the pavilion or else they would become dependent on the safety of Endrykas, and his pavilion, which was dead now, of course, had valued its independence. With freedom came danger and responsibility. He had been the sole survivor of the danger and so the responsibility for his freedom rested on his shoulders.
Those shoulders were bare, taking in the warmth of the summer sun. He wasn't normally vain, but someone had said something about the lines of his sun coloration and so he was working the thick needle through the two pieces of leather, joining them, with his shirt off. He was tall and slender, whipcord muscle over elegant bones, but he was more filled out than he had been when he arrived, eating regularly now and training hard to work his way up in the ranks of the Watch and to earn the respect of his people.
He took the leather gently in his teeth to free up his hands to pull the lid off of the pot he had cooking over the hot coals of the fire, the smell of zibri, beans, and vegetables wafting out. He couldn't afford fancy spices, and he was no great cook, so they ate simple fare. Why he was teaching Jyn, the servant, to cook was just another example of the capricious humor of the gods. But it was then he heard the exasperated call and he looked up, dark, vaguely almond-shaped eyes alert as only a man of the Watch (or a runaway slave (or both)) could be.
When he saw her, he covered the pot and set his leather aside, standing up to stretch.
"Hullo!" he called. "Looking for someone?" |